Bound by Blood and Sand
Page 5
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“I will,” Elan snapped, and turned his attention back to the dry, dismal landscape.
As they approached, Elan found that Aredann wasn’t any more impressive up close than it had looked from a distance. He could see most of its layout—the mage-built house, tiny compared to buildings in the central cities, but larger than anything else out here. There was a smattering of a town around it, no more than a handful of dull tan buildings. The fields and orchards sat off to one side, closer to the minuscule reservoir. It was the reservoir that most drew his eye, glistening like a blue jewel, but infinitely more valuable.
The main street they rode down was also the only street, aside from some tiny sandy lanes. A few Twill gaped at him from the glassless windows of their houses, so he tried to look regal, like his father. Worn tracks led them to the estate’s outer wall, with an enormous stone gate that was pulled open by guardsmen as they approached.
A small crowd waited inside, the girl at the front wearing a vibrant red robe with gold embroidery, much nicer than anything anyone else had on. It took Elan a moment to realize she was Lady Shirrad—he’d expected a grown woman, not someone close to his own age.
Growing up among the Highest families had taught him to school his expression, so he was careful not to let his surprise show as he pushed the hood and mesh from his face. No one so young should have been the Avowed guardian of an entire estate and reservoir. Something must have happened to her parents, but he couldn’t remember Desinn mentioning it.
The riders finally halted, and as Elan dismounted, Lady Shirrad fell into an elegant curtsey. With that cue, everyone else who had gathered bowed, as protocol demanded.
Elan tucked his gloves into his belt and stepped forward. He stood in front of Lady Shirrad and held out his hands, sand falling from his draped sleeves. Someone handed Lady Shirrad an elegant cup, intricately carved, with damp spots dripping from the top. Lady Shirrad ducked her head as she handed it to him, an offering of loyalty to the Highest. Elan accepted it and drank. The ceremony only required him to take a few mouthfuls, but he was thirsty enough to empty the cup entirely.
He nodded when he was finished, handing the cup back. “My thanks, Lady Guardian.”
“All I have is yours, Grand Warden,” she answered, and gestured to the arched gate of the inner wall behind her. “And I’d be pleased to show you all that this estate offers.”
“Highest is fine—or Lord Elan,” he said, though he was inwardly pleased she’d used his full title. He was young to hold it, but carrying out his father’s will and upholding order was an honor. And, despite what Desinn thought, it was a role he was perfectly capable of handling. “Before anything else, I’d like to change into something less travel-worn.” He brushed sand from his robe, not that it did much good. “And I’m certain my traveling companions would like to do the same. Ah, Lady, I should introduce you….” He glanced over at Desinn, now dismounted and following them as they walked toward the house itself. Desinn wasn’t as good at keeping his feelings off his face, and right now it clouded with impatience. “This is my tutor, Lord Desinn Loerdan, one of my father’s most trusted stewards for many years now.”
“I’m very glad to meet you, my lord,” she said, almost stumbling as she looked back at him while leading the way.
“Lady,” Desinn answered, amused. Shirrad’s cheeks reddened, but that could have been from insult as much as embarrassment at her misstep. As the guardian of an entire estate, she certainly outranked Desinn enough that he should have bowed. But then again, Desinn was close to Elan’s father, which was a kind of power all its own.
“Highest, we haven’t had our evening meal yet,” she said after a moment. “I’m sure you must be exhausted from your trip. Why don’t you rest before dinner, and we’ll eat in private when it’s ready?”
“Certainly,” Elan agreed. “Perhaps I’ll bathe while I wait.”
Her smile went tight but didn’t waver. “Of course, Highest. I’ll have a servant draw a bath for you immediately. And of course, here, ah”—she turned down a hall—“the finest rooms in the estate.” She opened a door and stood aside politely.
The room was nicer than he’d expected, with high ceilings and bright orange-and-yellow walls, an intricate tile design that proved that, poor though this place was, the house had been built by mages. No one since the War had constructed houses where the walls themselves were art.
The sleeping mat was on a raised platform and draped with lush, bright blankets and pillows, with a carved stone cistern in the corner, several more cushions for guests to sit on, and a padded bench in front of the window. The room’s decorations weren’t as intricate as the ones in his father’s house, but the blankets and cushions all looked just as comfortable and equally embellished, and he was sure these were Lady Shirrad’s quarters. Giving up her own rooms for him was beyond the politeness required from a host, but she scurried off before he could thank her for it.
Elan stretched, sore from the journey and too warm, even in here. He loosened the cord that fastened his robe at his neck and tossed the robe off. As he walked to the window, he absently tugged the neck of his shirt down, allowing his fingers to trace the well-healed brand below his collarbone, near his heart. A circle, divided into four sections—one for each of the Highest families; one for each of the elements. It was a mark of his rank, given to him when he’d taken his vows of loyalty to his father at thirteen. All Avowed wardens and guardians had one, including members the Highest families—the guardians of the Well itself. The brand was a reminder of the vows they’d all taken.
He pushed aside the curtain and gazed out at a dusty courtyard. It wasn’t much of a view, but he supposed that was to be expected. There was nothing to look at in Aredann, because there was nothing to Aredann. As its water supply dwindled, so did Aredann, and soon it would be left to the desert, battered by wind and sand until it crumbled into dust.
Elan ran a hand over the decoration in the tiles, staring down at the empty, ugly courtyard. It was hard to believe that the last battle of the War of the Well had been won here.
Aredann may not have looked impressive, but its history was worth saving. It wasn’t just the battle, or the fact that the great traitor had been born here. No one knew for sure why the Highest’s ancestors had seen fit to build a reservoir so far removed that it didn’t support a city or even farming lands, but legends said the estate had actually been a way-marker. Aredann was supposedly the last reservoir before the Well itself, out to the west somewhere. No one was sure that was true; no one had ever found any proof.
As they approached, Elan found that Aredann wasn’t any more impressive up close than it had looked from a distance. He could see most of its layout—the mage-built house, tiny compared to buildings in the central cities, but larger than anything else out here. There was a smattering of a town around it, no more than a handful of dull tan buildings. The fields and orchards sat off to one side, closer to the minuscule reservoir. It was the reservoir that most drew his eye, glistening like a blue jewel, but infinitely more valuable.
The main street they rode down was also the only street, aside from some tiny sandy lanes. A few Twill gaped at him from the glassless windows of their houses, so he tried to look regal, like his father. Worn tracks led them to the estate’s outer wall, with an enormous stone gate that was pulled open by guardsmen as they approached.
A small crowd waited inside, the girl at the front wearing a vibrant red robe with gold embroidery, much nicer than anything anyone else had on. It took Elan a moment to realize she was Lady Shirrad—he’d expected a grown woman, not someone close to his own age.
Growing up among the Highest families had taught him to school his expression, so he was careful not to let his surprise show as he pushed the hood and mesh from his face. No one so young should have been the Avowed guardian of an entire estate and reservoir. Something must have happened to her parents, but he couldn’t remember Desinn mentioning it.
The riders finally halted, and as Elan dismounted, Lady Shirrad fell into an elegant curtsey. With that cue, everyone else who had gathered bowed, as protocol demanded.
Elan tucked his gloves into his belt and stepped forward. He stood in front of Lady Shirrad and held out his hands, sand falling from his draped sleeves. Someone handed Lady Shirrad an elegant cup, intricately carved, with damp spots dripping from the top. Lady Shirrad ducked her head as she handed it to him, an offering of loyalty to the Highest. Elan accepted it and drank. The ceremony only required him to take a few mouthfuls, but he was thirsty enough to empty the cup entirely.
He nodded when he was finished, handing the cup back. “My thanks, Lady Guardian.”
“All I have is yours, Grand Warden,” she answered, and gestured to the arched gate of the inner wall behind her. “And I’d be pleased to show you all that this estate offers.”
“Highest is fine—or Lord Elan,” he said, though he was inwardly pleased she’d used his full title. He was young to hold it, but carrying out his father’s will and upholding order was an honor. And, despite what Desinn thought, it was a role he was perfectly capable of handling. “Before anything else, I’d like to change into something less travel-worn.” He brushed sand from his robe, not that it did much good. “And I’m certain my traveling companions would like to do the same. Ah, Lady, I should introduce you….” He glanced over at Desinn, now dismounted and following them as they walked toward the house itself. Desinn wasn’t as good at keeping his feelings off his face, and right now it clouded with impatience. “This is my tutor, Lord Desinn Loerdan, one of my father’s most trusted stewards for many years now.”
“I’m very glad to meet you, my lord,” she said, almost stumbling as she looked back at him while leading the way.
“Lady,” Desinn answered, amused. Shirrad’s cheeks reddened, but that could have been from insult as much as embarrassment at her misstep. As the guardian of an entire estate, she certainly outranked Desinn enough that he should have bowed. But then again, Desinn was close to Elan’s father, which was a kind of power all its own.
“Highest, we haven’t had our evening meal yet,” she said after a moment. “I’m sure you must be exhausted from your trip. Why don’t you rest before dinner, and we’ll eat in private when it’s ready?”
“Certainly,” Elan agreed. “Perhaps I’ll bathe while I wait.”
Her smile went tight but didn’t waver. “Of course, Highest. I’ll have a servant draw a bath for you immediately. And of course, here, ah”—she turned down a hall—“the finest rooms in the estate.” She opened a door and stood aside politely.
The room was nicer than he’d expected, with high ceilings and bright orange-and-yellow walls, an intricate tile design that proved that, poor though this place was, the house had been built by mages. No one since the War had constructed houses where the walls themselves were art.
The sleeping mat was on a raised platform and draped with lush, bright blankets and pillows, with a carved stone cistern in the corner, several more cushions for guests to sit on, and a padded bench in front of the window. The room’s decorations weren’t as intricate as the ones in his father’s house, but the blankets and cushions all looked just as comfortable and equally embellished, and he was sure these were Lady Shirrad’s quarters. Giving up her own rooms for him was beyond the politeness required from a host, but she scurried off before he could thank her for it.
Elan stretched, sore from the journey and too warm, even in here. He loosened the cord that fastened his robe at his neck and tossed the robe off. As he walked to the window, he absently tugged the neck of his shirt down, allowing his fingers to trace the well-healed brand below his collarbone, near his heart. A circle, divided into four sections—one for each of the Highest families; one for each of the elements. It was a mark of his rank, given to him when he’d taken his vows of loyalty to his father at thirteen. All Avowed wardens and guardians had one, including members the Highest families—the guardians of the Well itself. The brand was a reminder of the vows they’d all taken.
He pushed aside the curtain and gazed out at a dusty courtyard. It wasn’t much of a view, but he supposed that was to be expected. There was nothing to look at in Aredann, because there was nothing to Aredann. As its water supply dwindled, so did Aredann, and soon it would be left to the desert, battered by wind and sand until it crumbled into dust.
Elan ran a hand over the decoration in the tiles, staring down at the empty, ugly courtyard. It was hard to believe that the last battle of the War of the Well had been won here.
Aredann may not have looked impressive, but its history was worth saving. It wasn’t just the battle, or the fact that the great traitor had been born here. No one knew for sure why the Highest’s ancestors had seen fit to build a reservoir so far removed that it didn’t support a city or even farming lands, but legends said the estate had actually been a way-marker. Aredann was supposedly the last reservoir before the Well itself, out to the west somewhere. No one was sure that was true; no one had ever found any proof.
